If you cook – even sporadically – you’ve probably researched ingredient substitutions. Like when you’re in the middle making shortbread, but you realize you used your last stick of butter in a volatile caramel experiment last week (which is why your kitchen smells like an on-fire Werther’s factory). So you take to Google. You type: “Can I substitute olive oil/cream cheese/ I can’t Believe It’s Not Butter for butter?”*

*Do not substitute butter with anything that says in the title “…It’s Not Butter.”

OK, so maybe you guys haven’t been in exactly that situation. But you know what I mean. You want to make lo mein, but you don’t want to schlep down to Chinatown for black vinegar. Or you don’t want to buy a whole carton of buttermilk only to use 1/2 cup of it and let the rest turn pink, develop a smell that can only be described as cadaver-esque, and remind you, every time you open the fridge, that decay is life’s only constant.

The wonderful thing about cooking in the information age is that usually you can find appropriate substitutions for ingredients you don’t have or don’t want to bother with. Milk mixed with vinegar can stand in for buttermilk. Yogurt and sour cream are almost interchangeable. If you have baking powder and salt, you don’t need to buy anything “self rising.” Just ask Siri.

Unfortunately, Siri is less helpful if you want to expand your substitution scope beyond the kitchen. When I search, “What pantry staples can I substitute for awkward small talk?” I just get a bunch of complicated instructions for using my face to talk to other people’s faces. (If I had the skill set for that, why would I be looking for a substitute in the first place?) I think this is a pretty egregious oversight on the Internet’s part. Pantry-to-real-world substitutions exist – I’ve been using them for years. Because I’m very good at baking cookies, but I am significantly less good at interacting normally with others. So I guess I’m the one whose gonna have to get the substitution revolution started.

Here it is – My  list of baked substitutions for common social interactions.

To make friends: Instead of using openness and common interests, use cookies

I don’t like to show up to a party empty handed. When I tell people this policy, I let them think it’s because I have a sense of generosity or gratitude for the host. Actually, it’s because I want people to like me. Or at least, not regret introducing themselves to me. I know that, if you want to make a good impression at a social gathering, it’s best to bring dazzling wit or good, generous conversation. However, I do not always have access to those. So I bring cookies.

To make conversation: Instead of engaging in small talk, engage in cookies

I take issue with the term “small talk.” the word “small” makes it seem like it’s no big deal. Sure, some people seem to have an easy time discussing trivial things with strangers. But others of us have a harder time. Here’s an amalgamation of numerous times I’ve tried and failed at it:

Near Stranger: Hi! Happy Monday!

Me: Fine. How are you?

Stranger: …I’m OK.

There’s a silence as I try to come up with something normal humans talk about. Ariana Grande? The pen as a phallic symbol in Jane Austen Novels? DARPA? I’m drawing blanks. Wait, I know what me and this near stranger have in common: We have both been in the weather!

Stranger: I guess this is where we talk about the weather.

Me: (Crap! I thought it was such a good, unique topic)…It’s just that, the weather has been pretty crazy.

Stranger: I guess so.

Me: Like, yesterday, it was super windy. Today it’s less windy, but more cloudy.

Stranger: That’s true. Well, have a good day.

Me: You too also! Have a time that’s nice, this afternoon.

It’s so much easier when I have cookies on hand. Then, the conversation goes like this:

Near Stranger: Hi! Happy Monday!

Me: I’m Fine! I mean…would you like a cookie?

Near Stranger: I sure would!

See? Super smooth.

Dating: Instead of attracting mates with beauty  and charm, attract them with cookies.

I haven’t tried this one myself yet, but what do you guys think would happen if my OK Cupid profile was just a picture of a chocolate chip cookie?

Comfort during times of distress: Instead of offering emotional support, offer cookies.

Contrary to what you may think when I tell you that I didn’t cry during that one Bing Bong Scene in Inside Out, I am not dead inside. So it’s hard to watch people I care about go through difficult things. Unfortunately, I have a below average aptitude for knowing the right thing to say (See Exhibit A: Above example of small talk). In times of struggle, it’s nice to have cookies. Butter can express my love and support more purely than words.

Cookies can’t fix everything, but at least they won’t natter at you about the weather while you’re going through some real shit.

Celebrating: Also Cookies!

When I was in high school, I used to bring baked goods to school the day after my friends took their drivers license tests. If the test taker failed, they’d be “sorry you backed into that fire hydrant during your test, but at least it wasn’t a puppy!” cookies. If the test taker passed, they’d be “Hooray! Now we can go to Olive Garden even when our moms are busy” cookies.

The point is, I was super cool in high school. The alternate point is, cookies are miraculously versatile. They are appropriate in sorrow and joy; in adversity and triumph; in deep relationships and that horrifying moment where you realize you’re going to have to introduce two people to one another who’s names you missed, and know only as “Beagle Lady” and “Artisanal Waffle Guy.”

I’m not saying that baked goods can take the place of relationships themselves. But, they might be able to nudge them in the right direction.

If you do not always have access to top-shelf social graces, and you’re interested in an emergency oatmeal chocolate chip cookie recipe, go ahead to the next page.